Yes, that precious
You are precious to me.
More precious than rubies,
More precious than gold,
More precious than pretzels,
And beer that’s ice cold.
© Mark French 2021
Even the mice know their way…
Steam hammers through my radiator
as I lay here cut to ribbons
by the metallic light and sharp blue shadows
of the streetlight through my blinds.
I listen carefully
for the pitter-patter of mice from the kitchen,
quickly finding their way
along invisible trails that they seem to know so well.
I hear nothing
as I lay here cut to ribbons
by shadows and a sharp memory of a time
when I knew my way, too.
“Nothing” can keep you up all night
The winter sun sets at five o’clock
and it’s as dark now as the desperation of passing years.
Daylight is gone, and I can’t honestly be sure
that it’s ever coming back.
I can still see you smiling, beaming, on the bed
as you flip through the pictures of that spring and summer.
Then the days suddenly get shorter,
and the sunlight was gone,
and all I could say when you reached out
to find out what was happening was,
“Nothing”.
where she would stay
It wasn’t his place to understand a lifetime before him or what he meant to her, he that could treat her so casually and then expect for her to accept his excuses and explanations at the drop of a hat.
It wasn’t his place to try to explain that he’d been like that for as long as he could remember, a long time, and from far away, farther than she could understand.
He walked along the dark streets, looking in at the well-lit shop windows in his neighborhood and seeing reminders of her everywhere he looked.
He adjusted his scarf against the cold and walked on.
© Mark French 2021
